1
ZARA
Istand on the Aerie’s launch platform at dawn, and I have never felt more caged.
The wind whips across my face, carrying the scent of pine and woodsmoke from the settlement below. The sky stretches endless above me—rose and gold bleeding into pale blue—and every instinct screams at me to launch, to climb, to lose myself in the thermals until I can’t remember why I’m so angry.
But I don’t move. Not until I’ve filed reports and attended briefings and smiled at diplomats who look right through me.
Lightning crackles at my fingertips. I curl my hands into fists before anyone sees.
The council chamber doors swing open behind me, and I force my expression into something pleasant. Diplomatic. The mask I’ve worn so long it feels like skin.
“Zara!” Elder Miriam catches up to me, her silver hair streaming behind her. “I wanted to congratulate you on the trade agreement. The Stormwright delegation outdid themselves.”
The Stormwright delegation.
Not me. NotZara, who spent three months negotiating every clause. Not the woman who barely slept for a week while hammering out compromise language that both parties could accept. No. TheStormwright delegation.
“Thank you, Elder.” My voice comes out smooth. “I’ll be sure to pass your praise along to Kael.”
Her smile falters slightly. “Oh—well, yes, your brother’s guidance was valuable, but I meant?—”
“His diplomatic instincts are exceptional.” I cut her off with practiced grace. “If you’ll excuse me, I have correspondence to attend to.”
I don’t wait for her response. My boots echo against stone as I stride toward the platform’s edge, putting distance between myself and the hollowed-out feeling in my chest.
Eight years. Eight years I’ve served as the Integration Alliance’s top diplomat, and somehow I’m still just Kael’s little sister. The safe one. The reliable one. The one who smooths over problems and soothes ruffled feathers while the real heroes take on the dangerous work.
I love my brother. I do. But gods, I’m tired of living in his shadow.
A young messenger appears at my elbow, slightly out of breath. His wings are still downy at the edges—barely out of his fledgling year. “Ambassador Stormwright? Urgent dispatch from the southern territories.”
“Just Zara.” I soften my expression. It’s not his fault I’m in a mood. “Let me see.”
I break the seal and scan the contents. My blood runs cold.
Deep Runner blockade established at Silver River delta. All river traffic halted. Downstream settlements report diminishing water supply. Request immediate diplomatic intervention or authorization for RRU tactical response.
I read it twice to be sure I’m not imagining things.
The Deep Runners. I’ve spent years studying them—what little exists. A semi-aquatic shifter clan controlling the Silver River and its tributaries. Isolationist to the point of myth. No outsider has made contact with them in generations. Most people aren’t even sure they still exist.
And now they’ve established a blockade.
“The Rapid Response Unit wants to send a tactical team?”
The messenger shifts nervously. “Commander Thorne argued force might escalate things. The settlements downstream are already rationing water.”
My mind races. The RRU is good at what they do, but their approach tends toward the direct. If the Deep Runners feel threatened, they’ll retreat deeper into their waterways. Or worse—they’ll fight. People will die. And any chance of real integration will vanish for another generation.
Unless someone gets there first.
The thought crystallizes with a clarity that makes my heart pound.
This is it. This is the mission I’ve been waiting for—dangerous, important, andmineif I’m brave enough to take it.
“How long until the RRU mobilizes?”
